An American Tragedy
by Pontificator
Summary: [AU][NaruSasu] It’s been seventeen years since the parental units were dismantled and discarded like toys out of favor, and the tapestry behind their deaths is woven together by books, art, and sexual tension. [Multichapter, WIP]


**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Naruto, Brokeback Mountain, _or _An American Tragedy _(the novel by Theodore Dreiser).

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Chapter 1: Brokeback Mountain

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It all began with a murder. Two murders, to be exact. Although, if true exactness is desired, then—

It all began with the birth of a boy of dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark smile.

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**PUBLIC AFFAIRS OFFICE  
PRESS RELEASE**

SAN FRANCISCO POLICE DEPARTMENT  
April 27, 1989  
Case #04-9157  
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Subject: San Francisco Police Seek Public's Help in Murder  
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The San Francisco Police Department is seeking the public's help for information in the murders of their Chief Of Police, Fugaku Uchiha, and his wife, Mikoto Uchiha. The murders occurred yesterday, Friday, April 26, near the intersection of Mission St. and Third St. at about 3:35 PM. In this incident, the suspect entered the victims' store and brutally assaulted and murdered the victims.

For more information, please contact:

Public Affairs Office

(415) 813-7532

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_April 30, 2006 __  
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"Where's the latest stack of _Harry Potter_ books?"

Balancing the store's records behind the counter, Sasuke stopped typing long enough to shoot a glare at his only employee. His eyes thinned like heated coals; his thin lips pursed in contempt.

"They're here," Sasuke said; and, rising from his seat, he kicked a dusty box from under his chair into her outstretched arms. The faint outline of a shoe was dented into the cardboard.

"_Sasuke_," the woman sighed. "Try not to damage the merchandise."

"They're already damaged."

Sasuke loathed the heroic saga of "the Chosen one." How typical of an author who knew nothing of the hardship of being an orphan to concoct a deceitful fantasy where a scrappy, scrawny, parentless underdog learned he possessed magic and was sent off to a boarding school to hone his talent for being "the-Boy-Who-Lived." It didn't help that this "Harry Potter" also had black hair. Thank the gods Sasuke didn't have glasses, or else the teasing would've been_ merciless_. As if high school wasn't difficult enough. Luckily, most of the utterly insensitive series had been published during his college years, where—presumably—students were much more mature about that sort of thing.

Besides, it wasn't as if Sasuke had gone around announcing his _dark, angst-ridden_ past over the campus intercom. (He hadn't wanted to be labeled a "Gary-Stu" by those fanfiction fanatics. He had had enough of them cropping up at the most awkward moments and whispering—apparently, they thought he was deaf— "Ohmygod! He's so hot! Hey, do you think he'll want to cosplay with us at the Japantown Anime Faire? We can get that pale guy, you know, Neji, to be Draco, and he can be Harry!" To which the whispered reply would be: "Wow! That _is_ hot.") It goes without saying that Sasuke spent about half his college-life in the bathrooms, where he stood a ninety-nine percent chance of being accosted by an adoring fan, instead of the usual hundred percent while roaming the hallways. He chalked it up to bladder-deficiency, and hoped it served as a deterrent. After all, what girl would want a guy to suddenly release _fluid waste_ while—

Uh, never mind. At least it had reduced the number of propositions from once a day to once a week.

"Sakura," Sasuke said suddenly, fingers pausing on the keyboard. "This doesn't make any sense. It's adding up wrong."

Ragged-cut hair dyed a washed-out pink fell past his nose to block his view of the spreadsheet. Sasuke drew his head back sharply, lifting his hands from the laptop as he attempted to purge his nostrils of the nauseating herbal scent. He really needed to get her to stop using those bargain-buy shampoos—not that, you know, he knew anything about shampoos. Or conditioners. Or hair gel.

"The only thing wrong is your mathematical aptitude," Sakura said. She shoved him off his chair (really, the woman needed to watch her strength) and proceeded to delete rows and columns with alarming speed.

Hunched over on a stool in the corner, Sasuke sulked. Well, not that he'd admit it (if accused, he'd adamantly protest that he was _brooding_), but with his mouth turned down and eyes narrowed, it could hardly be called anything else.

"I'll have you know I aced math in college," he groused, interrupting the nimble click-clacking.

Sakura cast him an arch glance. "And I'll have you know I _taught_ that course."

Sasuke glowered. "You were the TA."

". . . And your point is?"

"At least I didn't switch majors halfway through," muttered Sasuke, and decided a change of tactics was in order as a few stray hi-lighters on the floor reminded him of something. "Who goes from math to pre-med?"

Unfortunately for him, Sakura was the better tactician.

"At least _I_ have a goal," she retorted.

Something harsh and barbed sprouted in Sasuke's chest, and he raised his head to stare sharply at her back. "I _have_ a goal," he said quietly.

"It's been three years since you graduated," Sakura said, refusing to look at him. Though concerned, she had recently been granted the title of "Store Manger" and was reluctant to lose her position. The scholarship she'd received from UC San Francisco's school of medicine had been just enough to pay for her tuition; she was relying on her bookstore manager's salary to cover her room and board. In other words, she was relying on Sasuke (even though the thought of _owing_ something to him kept her awake and tossing at night).

The nettled plant in Sasuke's chest withered and drooped, altogether fragile at the core. "So?"

"So . . ." Sakura faltered, more than hesitant to express her opinion.

"Never mind," Sasuke snapped, cutting her off. "Just run an inventory check, will you?"

Grimacing slightly, Sakura slid off the chair with a vaguely repentant "Yes, sir," and headed for the backroom.

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It hadn't been three years. In Sasuke's long and detailed memory, the number seventeen flashed bright and clear. Seventeen years since the parental units had been dismantled and discarded like toys out of favor. Seventeen years to the day he'd skipped back from school eager to share a glowing progress report, only to have his pride diminish into self-hatred. And seventeen years since he had begun to hate his weakness and inability to protect those he loved. From then on, the sweet-natured Sasuke had soured into an angry adolescent, maligning his room at the orphanage. Some things didn't become better with age, and it appeared Sasuke was one of those things. Even now at twenty-five, he still bore self-hatred, but, as he was no longer weak and as he no longer loved anyone, it was more a hatred for the incomplete status of his one goal in life.

But he _would_ achieve it--eventually.

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Silver chimes stirred as the door swung open, and alerted by the tinkle, Sakura rose from her stool. Tucked in the corner of the store, behind the science section, reigned her arduous regimen of textbook-inhaling and hi-lighter-losing.

It was too bad that one other person would discover the appeal of such a corner.

Like someone stepping out from a sophisticated catalogue, a debonair man in a bold suit neatly pressed in shades of black and red halted in the doorway and lifted his sunglasses. With a disdainful sniff, he appraised the—as Sakura liked to call it—organized clutter.

"Anything I can do to be of service?" Sakura asked, barely succeeding at cordiality. The man's open disparagement irritated her. Not to mention his rather flashy sense of fashion.

"I'm afraid I'm not here for your books," said the man smoothly. "I'm more of an artist—"

"Oh, we sell art too," Sakura said. "There's an especially intricate piece that just came in—"

"That's nice," the man interrupted. "But this picturesque shop—and I assure you I think it's rather lovely—doesn't seem to have art with a bit of a _bang_. And, anyway, I'm actually looking for—"

His sharp, bright eyes noted a mess of dark hair atop a figure slouching behind the counter. "Sasuke," he said, delighted.

Sasuke raised his head to gaze blearily at the stranger. "Deidara . . . ?"

"Yes, long time no see. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

There was nothing but the sound of a paper fan crinkling, a forlorn lonesome thing as it flapped in the breeze. In that endless moment, Sasuke debated ordering Deidara off his property (especially since Deidara had professed no intention of purchasing anything). But first, there was a most pressing question he needed to ask.

"Why are you here?"

"Oh," said Deidara, "I was just in town and. . ."

"Bullshit," spat Sasuke. "I know you live right around the corner."

The man raked manicured nails through hair styled with precision. "So crude," he said, tone nonchalant. "And for your information, that's where you're wrong. I moved out three years ago. _Really_, Sasuke, I haven't seen you since your graduation day, and this is how you greet me?"

"But anyway,"—here Deidara's eyes lit upon Sakura once more—"it seems you've remarkably—there's nothing wrong with your looks, just your, ah, temperament—found yourself a girlfriend. Mm . . . She's quite pretty."

Sasuke choked, and Deidara paused to address Sakura directly. "But love, that dye's a bit too pale. I admit the pink's a good idea—it complements that nice green of your eyes, but you might want to try something a bit brighter."

Sakura's expression teetered between amusement and outrage. Ignoring her, Deidara barreled on.

"Well, I suppose that puts to rest those rumors that you're gay. What a pity. I have such a waiting list for your number, you know. But I told them that I'd had to see if you were so inclined before handing your number out to a horde of sexually-deprived men—"

"She's not my girlfriend," Sasuke bit out.

Deidara arched a waxed eyebrow. "Oh, really? Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I distributed your number—?"

"I like my privacy," said Sasuke stonily.

"Oh all right, then," Deidara said. "If you insist. But, really, you seem a bit lonely. You sure you wouldn't like something warm between your blankets at night?"

"That's what a heater's for," Sasuke said, teeth grinding.

The amber eyes widened, followed by a smirk. And before Sasuke could interject—

"Wow, Sasuke, that's _kinky_," Deidara drawled. "I never would've guessed you had it in you, because that's really _creative_. We ought to get together sometime, and chat. I could get lots of new material for my next article. . ."

Just as Sasuke thought he would implode from frustration, the chimes tinkled again, and a dark-suited man with blood-red lapels the color of his hair loomed in the door. He tapped on his watch, an impatient twist of his lips marring model-fine features.

"We're late," he said flatly.

Deidara frowned. "But I just found Sasuke here. Do you know how long it's been since I've seen him?"

If possible, the man's flinty eyes blazed fiercer than his hair. "Much too short. Let's go."

With a nod to Sasuke and a dismissive glance at Sakura, he swept out the door.

Deidara sighed dramatically.

"Don't mind him; he's just a bit antisocial. And," he said, studying Sakura, "you are quite the sweet thing, to have earned a look from him. My, I better watch the competition!"

And Deidara exited the store.

With an irritated grunt, Sasuke returned to his paperwork with a glare that could launch a thousand ships. His glare intensified when he realized that focusing on him was a pair of curious green eyes.

"Who were they?" Sakura asked. Her head reeled from the sight and sound of the beautiful men.

Sasuke buried his head in his hands. "No one you want to know."

"Tell me," Sakura said, insistent.

Her employer heaved a sigh to rival Deidara's. Rubbing his eyes, he said tiredly, "Sasori and Deidara. They're partners; they manage art exhibitions at museums."

"By partners, do you mean . . . ?"

"They're partners in every sense of the word, as in, not in the 'Howdy, partner!' sense," Sasuke clarified. At Sakura's giggle, his pale face darkened. "Oh gods. Don't tell me you liked that movie about those two farmers."

"_Cowboys_," Sakura corrected.

"Cowboys, farmers, they both live and breathe in shit."

Pushing down her laugh, Sakura protested, "It garnered very good reviews. Though the short story . . ."

"The short story was acceptable," cut in Sasuke. "A bit rough around the edges, but I guess that very rawness and . . . simplicity was what Proulx was aiming for."

He hesitated before making a tentative judgment. "It's an interesting sort of romance."

As Sakura grinned, a man of bright skin and brighter eyes stepped forward.

It was a wonder his paint-yellow hair hadn't given away his position. He'd been lurking in the corner of the store, taking up a frog-squat on Sakura's vacated stool and tapping impatiently at his thighs. Leather-bound books strung tight with strained thread held no interest for him. Renaissance prints of nubile half-dressed women were beneath his consideration. (Hell, if _he_ was in drag, he could probably cause more men to salivate then those flat renditions.) But when the topic of a book that'd latched rather successfully onto his short-attention span came up, he decided it was time to reveal himself.

"Yeah, it's definitely quite the tragedy," he announced cheerfully. He noticed the slender man, weary elbows resting on the counter, black hair delicate around his face (and eyes narrowed in irritation)—and turned his gaze to the woman with green eyes, who raised an eyebrow at his intrusion.

"I mean, it's deep, you know? In that weird, straightforward way. Real sorrowful. Hurt me right here," he declared, knocking on his chest.

Sakura's eyes flicked to Sasuke, and they shared a look of disbelief (although Sasuke's was more a look of annoyance).

The blond man continued. "It's one of those true-to-life romances, you know? No make-believe happy endings; it's love with all the complications, of course. Love knows no boundaries and all that."

Noticing the pale man's strangely twisted expression, he said, "Hey, man, what's up? You sure seem down."

Before Sasuke could respond with what was sure to a pithy put-down, Sakura moved in front of the rambling man. "He suffers from numerous anxiety disorders," she said lightly, and asked, "Is there anything you need help with?"

Sasuke picked up the telephone. Hearing the click, Sakura shot him a furious look. Sasuke ignored her. "It's for you," he said, holding the telephone out to the blond man.

The blond man appeared puzzled and dug at his ears. "I didn't hear any ringing."

"It's the village," said Sasuke in absolute seriousness. "They need their idio—"

"Sasuke!" admonished Sakura. "That's no way to treat a custo—a fellow _human being_."

"What a kind lady," said the blond man, letting Sasuke's derisive almost-snort (_almost_ because Sasuke could never be so unrefined) slide past him. "And so beautiful, too. I'm Naruto, by the way."

"Why, thank you," said Sakura. A slight smile was offered.

Naruto stuck out his hand. Beaming in an effort to make up for Sasuke's rudeness, Sakura grasped it in a firm shake and repeated her inquiry as to how she could be of service.

Naruto paused. "Yeah, actually, you can help me."

"With . . . ?" Sakura prompted.

"I'm looking for a romance."

Fingers formed in a rigid steeple, Sasuke studied the interaction. What a loser. Sakura probably made more in a day with her part-time job than Naruto did in a month. Probably some rich kid from the Nob Hill neighborhood, judging from the expensive and yet gaudy state of his clothes. And he couldn't even hit on women properly. But against his inclination, Sasuke was amused. Amused enough to roll his eyes and interject, "There's a whole shelf of that crap in the back, don't waste my employee's time finding you the perfect book to hold while jacking off."

At the phrase "jacking off," Naruto's head slowly spun to face him. The man closed in on Sasuke, mouth stretching in a feral grin. Pointed canines glinted, power radiated; he exuded energy. He reached over the counter to press wide hands into the worn wood.

The blue eyes were very, very bright—

And very, very wicked.

"Who said I was looking for a book?"


End file.
